


and some new Alexis find

by voksen



Category: David Blaize - E.F. Benson
Genre: Denial, Dreams, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Piffle, Timeline What Timeline, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:51:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David stumbles on something he wasn't meant to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and some new Alexis find

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Makioka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makioka/gifts).



It had been David's fault - or half David's, half Satan's, if you like.

The door had been slightly ajar when he had returned from Baxminster a day or two early, and, entering anyway, he had set his case down in the hall and gone to see whether he might catch a burglar or some such thing, as it wasn't at all in Frank's nature to be so careless with lock and key.

He proceeded stealthily - as stealthily as one could, while wearing shoes instead of slippers, and not being a great hand at sneaking to begin with - down the hall, wondering what on earth a burglar might want with them. Perhaps Frank's new Cambridge library possessed a whole pile of second editions, or even firsts, although this seemed vanishingly unlikely.

But the door _had_ been open, and it _was_ from Frank's study that he heard a little thump that seemed to him at the time to be very like the noise someone would make while rustling through books to see if there were any valuables there.

The study door was not open, so David opened it without tapping, very much prepared to fling himself inside and show the burglar what he thought of theft in general, much less theft from his own home and from his best friend. But what he saw inside froze his feet to the floor and the shout in his throat:

It wasn't a burglar. It was Frank there with his back to the door, half-dressed, his jacket off, shirt undone and slipping, trousers gaping open, and it was _Cruikshank's_ open collar that his dark head was tucked against. Their eyes were closed, arms straining, and Frank leaned heavily into Crookers, pushing him backwards against the bookcase so that his leg hit a shelf with a soft thump that was almost but not quite like the noise a burglar might make.

And Frank made a choked, quiet, impossible sound, and Crookers' free arm came up about his back to hold him close, broad hand first flat on the small of it, then slipping down to settle, curved, right over his arse.

David fled.

He had the presence of mind - barely - to snatch up his case as he raced through the hall and out the door, though he didn't stop then or when he found the open air and the street again. He ran, heavy case and all, faster than he ever had on the field; with Hell itself at his heels, how could he not?

 

The hotel he found was no sanctuary. David didn't know if it was the closeness - though, Lord, he thought he might go to the continent and it wouldn't be far enough to get away - or the shock of it, of seeing _Frank_ like that and again having the half-forgotten cupboard in the back of his mind flung wide. But, either way, he simply could not put it out of his mind as he had been able to do so many times before with so many other things; this time, the cupboard would not close.

He lay sleepless late into the night, huddled under coarse blankets in a strange bed. The scene kept rising up as fast as he tried to shove it away, more and more detailed each time: here, the way Crookers' bowling arm had flexed just so, his sleeve rucking up around his strong forearm; there, the hot red flush staining the back of Frank's neck and creeping down from his short close-cropped dark hair along his shoulder to where his shirt threatened to slip off as his hand moved, hidden from David's view.

In a horrible, brief, brutish instant David was _tempted_ , as he never had been before, tempted to take himself in hand, to thrust into his fist - just as they had done - to see if that sound Frank had made was something that could possibly come from his own lips. _"Damn!"_ he said instead, and worse than that, swearing a streak bluer than he had since he'd left Adams', and rolled over, trapping his arms beneath his head, burying his face in the pillow as if suffocation would be better than the unspeakable alternative.

 

When finally, near dawn, he slept, he found himself sitting in a field on a low stone wall, the blocks each curiously marked with the name of Publius Aelius, eating a large, freshly-scrumped apple. Although he could see the apple perfectly well and feel its weight in his hand, when he bit into it there was no crunch of flesh between his teeth, no taste nor feel of sweet juice filling his mouth. This seemed perfectly normal at the time, which was perhaps why, when Maddox and Cruikshank walked along the path in front of him, holding hands and togas slightly askew, he did not think it too strange that there was no disgust or horror there for him to feel, either.

It was Cruikshank who glanced over to look at him there on the wall, and said "All right, Blazes?" as casually as if they had knocked against each other in the house at Marchester.

"All right," David answered around a bite of apple, swallowing it down and wondering vaguely why Maddox didn't speak.

For a moment it seemed as if they were going to walk on, but just as they passed Maddox paused, pulling Crookers to a halt as well, and turned to David. "You can come if you like," he said.

David was still full of that strange calmness, but now something he could not quite ignore whispered _danger_ to him in a voice like the creak of hinges, and he shivered slightly despite the warmth of the sun. "Later," he said, not wanting to tell Frank _no_ outright. "I'll come along later."

He was somehow expecting Maddox to protest or ask again, but he didn't; simply went on hand in hand with Crookers, leaving David sitting on the wall with a handful of apple-nothing and a heart in which calm rapidly faded to burning emptiness.

 

And, when he woke, desperately alone - to a damp pillow and filthy sheets - he found he still could not forget.


End file.
